Claustrophobia
by princessozmaofoz
Summary: "In his fifty years of life, Malcolm Tucker had gotten so used to escaping fate that he felt fairly comfortable tempting it. He should have known better." Malcolm/Nicola. Rated for language and slight sexual references. Now COMPLETE. 3/7/12.
1. Chapter 1

_ Author's note: So this is my first foray into writing for this fandom as I've just discovered the show and this pairing. I wanted to read fic, but sadly couldn't find very much—so I decided to try my hand at writing some myself. I did the best I could, and while I'm reasonably happy with my Nicola, I'm not sure Malcolm is up to scratch. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that if you're going to flame, try to not to be too scathingly Malcolm-esque, cause I'm new to this._

_ Acknowledgements/Disclaimer: Thanks as always goes to prosfan, for all her help and encouragement. Also, even though there is some foul language in this and some slight sexual references, I didn't think it was enough to merit an "M" rating. But considering that it's Malcolm and Nicola, they do drop the "f" bomb a significant number of times. Finally, I don't own "The Thick of It."_

Chapter One

_Claustrophobia—noun—the extreme or irrational fear of confined places_

Nicola Murray folded her arms firmly across her chest and scowled at her companion. "Are you out of your bloody mind?"

"Come on, Nic'la."

" No, I'm claustrophobic. I've only told you a million times."

"Just think of it as another test. Ye're a bloody cabinet minister now, and believe me, sweetheart, this is absolutely nothing compared to the other tests that are waiting for ye."

" No, it's _worse, _and I'm not going to do it_._"

Malcolm Tucker pressed the button on the wall to summon the lift. "Ye don't have a choice. We're already twenty-minutes late, and our meeting is on the thirty-first floor. Besides, if ye hadn't taken a fucking hour-and-a-half to get ready, we would've been early, and ye could've taken your precious stairs."

" You're saying this is my fault? I wasn't the one who held us up." Nicola gave Malcolm a particularly vitriolic stare as she began cruelly mimicking his accent. "'Nic'la, what the fuck are you wearing? Change your dress, and this time, pick something in a more tasteful colour.' 'Nic'la, if you were any paler, you'd be the spittin' image of Count Dracula in drag. Get Terri to put some blush on you.' ' Good God, Nic'la, what have you done to your face? When I told you politics was a circus, I promise I was joking—though either way, you're still the bloody clown.' Maybe if you'd told me exactly what you wanted in the first place, I wouldn't have taken so long. Did you ever consider _that_?"

" I shouldn't have to tell you. If ye had any brain at all, ye'd fucking know without being told."

" Yes, well I don't. I guess I'm just as much of an idiot as you're always telling me." She sighed. "I guess you'll just have to come my place after this is over, we'll go into my closet, and you can pick out exactly what you want me to wear for every single social function planned for the next month. Then, you can stop complaining all the bloody time."

" Let me get this straight. Ye're inviting me back to your house…specifically into yere bedroom?" Malcolm waggled his eyebrows suggestively. " I suppose it all depends. Will yere husband be home?"

The DoSAC secretary of state's cheeks turned the exact colour as the crimson lipstick Malcolm had coerced her into wearing. " I didn't mean it like _that_. How could you possibly think that I…that we…no, just never in a million years…"

"Calm down, I was only teasing."

Nicola eyed her companion suspiciously for a moment, in an attempt to discern whether or not he was being serious. " You'd be better be."

"Well, you and I are both lucky that I am. Sex with me is fucking _Hell's Angels. _Even if you somehow manage to survive the ride, ye'll still end up paralyzed and in a fucking coma." A moment later the lift finally arrived. Malcolm gestured grandly to the opening doors. "Shall we?"

" No…to both offers. As you said, I probably wouldn't survive that ride, and I sure as hell aren't going to survive this one. I'm not getting in there with you."

"There ye're wrong, sweetheart." Before Nicola could say another word, he had grabbed her from behind and had pushed her into the lift so hard that she landed on her knees. She gingerly got to her feet and tried to escape, but Malcolm was standing directly in front of the now-closing doors.

" Please, _please_ Malcolm." Nicola could feel the tears already prickling in her eyes. It was only a matter of time before the dizziness started.

"We need to get to the meeting on time, and besides, it's for yere own good. How can ye fucking live yere life like this? It's a bloody _room_— how could it possibly hurt ye? And it's not even a top-secret MI5 torture chamber where they administer 100 watts of electric shock into your arse every second. It's a small, safe room that takes ye places. It's the closest thing we have to real honest- to- God beam-me-up Scotty teleportation. It's a fucking _lift_ for Chrissakes."

" I think I'd take the MI5 torture chamber in all honesty," Nicola replied in-between massive, gaping breaths. " At least there'd be decent air inside"

" Then, ye're as stupid as ye are ugly. There's no air in them—no clean air at any rate. They sic poisonous gas on ye if ye keep refusing to talk. Ye're dead before ye even have time to compose an epitaph. And unless ye learn to keep your wits about ye, that's exactly the way ye'll end up one of these days."

"Couldn't you use your political savvy to get me out?"

"Course I fucking could, but ye seem to be forgetting, sweetheart, that I'd be the one who threw ye in there in the first place."

Malcolm waited for Nicola's retaliation, but surprisingly it didn't come. He glanced at his companion and noticed that she was sobbing and visibly trembling. He moved over to her. "Look, Nicky. I'm…I'm sorry about all this. Next time, we'll take the stairs, I promise. But for now, just try to relax. Ye're going to be fine-_really_."

Nicola glanced over at him, tears continuing to stream down her cheeks." No, I won't. I'm going to die; I just know it."

Funnily enough, the current redness surrounding Nicola's eyes only magnified the lovely blue-green colour of her irises. Malcolm Tucker could say what he wanted about the rest of the DoSAC secretary of state, but he couldn't deny that Nicola Murray had beautiful eyes." Ye're not going to die, Nic'la."

"Yes, I _am_ going to die and once you finally get out of here, you'll grind up my bones and make toothpaste out of them—so you can continue to hold me between your teeth even when I'm dead." She placed both her hands on her throbbing forehead and began fiercely massaging her temple.

"Nah, your bones wouldn't be nearly minty enough for my taste. Now Glenn, on the other hand, his bones could give _Crest_ a real run for their fucking money," Malcolm said, chuckling a bit.

Nicola, however, didn't even crack a smile. Her face, now completely covered in a combination of sweat, tears, and running mascara, bore the same petrified expression Malcolm had seen once on the face of a mouse—right before the poor animal had been gobbled up by a fox.

' _She__** is**__ a bloody mouse—a frumpy and scared wee little field mouse. And I'm fox that's cornered her—that caused her to have a bloody panic attack simply so we could save time.'_ For some reason, the thought made him squirm uncomfortably.

Without stopping to fully consider the implications of what he was doing, Malcolm placed a comforting arm around his companion's shoulder. " Ye'll be fine, Nic'la. I promise. Ye're not going to die or become bloody toothpaste; I won't allow it. And look, we've only got five more floors to go, and then, ye can get out. What could possibly go wrong?"

In his fifty years of life, Malcolm Tucker had gotten so used to escaping fate that he felt fairly comfortable tempting it. He should have known better. No sooner had he said this than the lift stopped moving completely, and he and Nicola were plunged into darkness.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	2. Chapter 2

_So this chapter ended up getting a bit more sweary and a lot more obviously shippy. Still don't think it merits an "M" rating though._

Chapter Two

The only reason that Nicola Murray didn't scream as the lights went out was because she didn't want to strain her vocal chords. Convinced that the next twenty or so minutes were to be her last, she wanted to save her voice for more important things—like any last words she might be predisposed to share. So while Malcolm expressed his wrath through an impressive-if- incomprehensible torrent of the filthiest expletives known to mankind, Nicola silently started composing her epitaph.

Death was closing in on her; she could already feel its menacing arm wrapped firmly about her shoulder.

No, _wait._ It wasn't Death's arm; it was Malcolm's, though Nicola couldn't really blame herself for thinking otherwise at first. The two were very easily confused.

_Wait, why the hell was Malcolm holding onto her in a dark room?_ Was he planning to gradually move his hand up to her throat and strangle her in the dark? She wouldn't put it past him, and chances are he'd be able to make her death look like an accident. Of course, he had know that killing her would be a waste of time and effort since she was already going to die in here anyway,.

Nicola then wondered if her previous theory about Malcolm's arm might have been wrong. Though the spin-doctor had claimed he was joking when he suggested they sleep together, his eyes had seemed to say something else entirely. What was more, the two of them were completely alone in this dark, cramped room, and would likely remain there for some time. While Nicola personally found the setting positively terrifying, she knew that other people might see it as exciting and romantic. Oddly enough, the idea of being seduced by Malcolm frightened Nicola even more than the idea of being strangled by him, for reasons that she didn't quite understand.

However, no sooner had this thought struck her than Malcolm at least released his grasp on her. Instead, the spin-doctor removed his Blackberry from his jacket pocket and held it aloft. " I thought we could use the extra light."

" Right."

" And as we're probably going to be here for a ridiculously long amount of time, we might as well sit down. Standing probably isn't helping your light-headedness. And ye do pass out, I absolute refuse to give ye fucking mouth-to-mouth—regardless of how desperately ye may need it."

"Well…I suppose…" Nicola said. " The only trouble is that…well…I'm wearing a dress with a rather short skirt…"

" It's too fucking dark in here. I wouldn't be able to look up your skirt even if I _wanted_ to. Which I _don't_ want to, by the way. I imagine your thighs are just unremarkable as the rest of ye. "

She carefully moved to sit down on the floor of the lift, and a few seconds later, he did the same. "You don't have to keep reminding me of exactly how passionately you hate, loathe, despise, and abominate everything about me. I doubt I'm going to forget how you feel anytime soon."

" That's another fucking thing that I don't understand about ye. How can ye can be such a pathetic imbecile and yet somehow manage to use words like 'abominate' correctly?"

It was funny, but bickering with Malcolm brought a reassuring sense of normalcy to the nightmarish situation. Nicola was still more terrified than she could remember being in a long time, but she knew it would've been far worse if she'd been alone. " Well, it just so happens that even 'pathetic imbeciles' like to pick up a good romance novel every so often."

"Romance novels? Christ, Nic'la if ye read anything it all, it should be fucking self-help books—cause ye need all the bloody help that ye can get."

"Surely, I'm not _that_ hopeless?"

"Darling, ye're a reformed junkie at a Bob Dylan concert. You're an obese diabetic who's just been given a piece of chocolate cake. You're the bloody poster child for complete and utter failures. I'm still in shock that you haven't contracted herpes yet, because all you _ever_ do is let yourself get screwed over multiple times a day by multiple people."

Nicola didn't respond, but it wasn't because Malcolm's words had particularly hurt her feelings. She'd been on the receiving end of far-worse rants.

No, the cabinet minister had suddenly remembered exactly where she was. Darkness was surrounding her; it was only a matter of time before it consumed her, and likely, Malcolm wouldn't do anything to stop this from happening. If anything, he'd probably be relieved that she was dead and out of his hair. She supposed that was the one good thing about dying; she wouldn't be able to embarrass him and herself anymore.

If only, the end didn't have to come in a damned _lift!_

Meanwhile, Malcolm studied his companion by the faint light emitted by his Blackberry. To say that Nicola looked a fright would've been a gross understatement. In addition to her smeared make-up, tear-stained face, and the horror-struck expression in her eyes, several bruises were forming on the cabinet minister's knees. "What's happened?"

" Have you been asleep this whole time? Let's see…" Nicola paused in mock thought. " You forced me into the lift even though you know I'm bloody claustrophobic. You've continued to take the piss out of me the whole time for my being afraid, and just when I thought everything couldn't possibly get any worse, the fucking power went out. Have I forgotten anything?"

"Ye're knees look pretty bad, that's all. I was just wondering what happened to them." He hesitated. "That…that bastard husband of yours hasn't been knocking ye about—has he? Cause if he _has_, I'll flail the skin off of him and use it for my fucking shower curtain."

The vehemence in his voice surprised her, and by the dim light of her companion's Blackberry, she could see a similar passion in his eyes. " I didn't know you cared."

"'_Course _I fucking care."

"Really?"

"Yeah, you're my responsibility now."

"So that's all I am to you—a _responsibility_? A mere pawn in your sadistic little political chess matches?" She tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice but failed.

No, much as it pained Malcolm to admit it, Nicola was far more than that. She was one of only a handful of people who was willing to stand up to him and for whom he was willing to stand up. She was something over which he liked to delude himself into believing he had total control, but he knew the truth. He couldn't frighten her or manipulate her into total submission half as easily he could frighten and manipulate everyone else. He needed her consent however reluctant she might be giving it; she'd cooperate if and _only_ if she was sure, at some level, that Malcolm was right.

She was her own person— passionate, pig-headed, proud, and puzzling—and _that _was what Malcolm Tucker simultaneously hated and loved the most about Nicola Murray.

"Nah, ye're not just a responsibility." She glanced at him curiously. "Ye're…"

' _Fascinating? Frustrating? Far easier on the eyes than I like to pretend?'_

" Ye're a fucking embarrassment. That's what you are. Spending even ten seconds with you is the equivalent of falling down a flight of stairs into a fountain in front of a shitload of journalists while at the same time soiling your trousers. _That_'s how it is spending ten bloody _seconds_ in your company!"

" Well, I can't say you're exactly a picnic to hang around either."

Though he doubted Nicola could see him in the dark, Malcolm raised an eyebrow. " A _picnic?_"

"What? _You _go about spouting nonsense all the bloody time, and no one ever calls you out on it. Yet, I say something slightly out-of-the ordinary and you're all over me."

"I'm hardly 'all over you,' darling, and I never will be. I make it my policy not to get romantically involved with colleagues—and you'd be the absolute last person I'd consider making an exception for. Hell, I think I'd willingly shag Glenn twice before I'd so much as kiss you once."

Nicola took this last remark with a grain of salt. After all, Malcolm was the one who'd brought up the very idea of a romance between them. What was more, though he had just protested very loudly about how the thought of kissing her disgusted him, he was currently staring very intensely at her lips. The DoSAC minister suddenly felt her heart pounding again, and this time, she suspected that claustrophobia might not be the only cause.

She broke his gaze and forced a laugh. "Is that supposed to be a compliment to Glenn or an insult to me?"

"Neither. It wasn't intended as a compliment or an insult—just a mere statement of fact. Anyway, stop changing the subject. You still haven't told me what's happened to your knees."

" You."

"I…what?"

" _You _happened to my knees. I fell on them when you pushed me in here. But did you stop for second _then_ to check to see if I was all right? _No._ But now… now that you've thought of the possible political implications and how this might reflect unfavourably on you…_now_, you care. "

Malcolm opened his mouth to respond and then closed it. He wondered why her words bothered him so much. So, what if he hadn't noticed her injuries right away? He'd had other more important things on his mind at the time—like worrying about how royally Nicola was going to fuck-up the meeting for which they were already late and how he was going to keep the fact that the PM had recently visited a psychiatrist from the press, and how much he'd wanted a nice bag of potato crisps. It was therefore understandable that he hadn't realized he'd hurt her.

So, why did he feel so guilty about it now? Why did he have a feeling that if it _had _been Mr Murray—and not Malcolm himself—who'd bruised Nicola, the DoSAC minister's husband would be lying in a hospital bed before the day was through, cursing Malcolm Tucker's name through a swollen and bloody lip?

The spin-doctor tried to tell himself he was only worried about his own self-interest. If the press saw the minister's injuries, uncomfortable questions would surely be posed. However, he knew that his first concern _hadn't _been political. While Malcolm Tucker couldn't have cared less about Nicola Murray's ego being bruised, her body was another matter entirely. He needed her to be safe, whole, and happy—rather ironic considering he was the one who'd robbed her of all these things.

"…Anyway…" Nicola's words suddenly interrupted Malcolm's thoughts. "What do you want me to tell everyone? About my knees, I mean."

"Nothing."

"Won't that just make everything worse? I mean…if people sense I'm reluctant to talk about it, they'll assume the worst possible scenario. Sooner or later, that story is bound to make it into some snotty journalist's hands, and he'll run with it."

Ah, so she _could_ be taught. Malcolm was somewhat impressed in spite of himself—not that he'd ever share these feelings with Nicola; she might think he was growing soft. " I don't want ye to say anything unless ye're specifically asked. And if ye _are_ asked, say that ye fell. Just, neglect to mention the fact that I pushed ye—that is unless ye fancy having your arse being used as my personal dartboard for the rest of the rest of your miserable fucking life. And that's all I have to say about that."

"_All_?"

"Yeah, what else did ye want me to say?"

" I think 'I'm sorry' would do nicely. You still haven't apologized to my satisfaction."

"Apologize? If ye weren't such a fucking crazy, sweetheart, I wouldn't have needed to push ye inside. You'd have come willingly, and no one would've gotten hurt."

" And if we'd taken the stairs like _I _wanted to, we'd be at the meeting right now—physically_ and_ psychologically unharmed!" Nicola folded her arms across her chest and gave her companion the most venomous stare she could muster. "Instead, we're stuck here in this fucking lift for God-knows-how long. And that's assuming we even get out at all which is seeming more and more unlikely as time goes on…"

Her voice seemed to falter on these last few words, and she buried her face in her hands. Malcolm wondered whether she was about to start crying again. The spin-doctor sighed deeply before he finally spoke again." Nic'la, I'm…I'm… sorry…I pushed ye, lass; I really am."

She raised her head and shot him a mischievous smile, one that reached her currently dry eyes. "I know you are; I just wanted to hear you say it."

"Why, you…you manipulative bitch!" Malcolm said, more surprised than annoyed.

"Well, I've been learning from the very best."  
>"That you have, sweetheart; that you fucking have!"<p>

**TO BE CONTINUED…**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

" Malcolm?" The spin-doctor didn't even glance up from his smartphone. Nicola cleared her throat loudly to divert his attention.

"Do ye need a cough drop?"

"Er…no. I wanted to…to tell you something."

The spin-doctor's fingers continued to dance rapidly over the keys of his Blackberry. "Well, make it quick. The PM's somehow managed to get himself more screwed than an Amsterdam tart on Valentine's Day."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not yere fault. Tom's a grown man; he should know that he's to do his shitting on the toilet and not in front of a BBC news camera."

" I didn't mean for that." The DoSAC secretary of state took a deep, calming breath before continuing. " I'm sorry for always managing to fuck something up no matter how carefully you drill me. I'm sorry for…for talking back to you when you need me to be quiet and docile. I'm sorry…that no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try…it's never good enough—_I'm _never good enough. I'm sorry for everything."

Malcolm finally placed his phone on the floor of the lift and gave Nicola an irritated look. "Now, what's this all about?"

"You've…you've done so much for me—helped me clean up all my messes. I just want you to know that I really appreciate it and that I'm sorry for making them. Seeing as I'm probably going to die in here…well, it's just something I wanted to get out there before I go."

"_Go_? Now Nic'la, be reasonable," the spin-doctor replied, rolling his eyes at his companion for the umpteenth time.

"I _am_ being reasonable. 'You should know what you're capable of.' Isn't that what you're always telling me? Well, I know that I'm not capable of surviving in here much longer."

"We've been over this; ye're gonna be fine. Really."

"Will you please just shut the fuck up and accept my apology?"

Her irate tone took him aback. God, she really must've been worried if she was shouting over a little thing like that. "Fine, I accept—all except the bit about you being quiet and docile. That bit's absolute rubbish. Even if you _were_ physically capable of being either of those things—which ye're _not_—I wouldn't want it. In spite of everything, I like it when ye talk back to me. I fucking _like_ the fact that someone actually has a second opinion—even if it _is_ a complete shit one—and isn't afraid to share it."

"Good, I suppose I can die in peace now." Her voice didn't have an iota of sarcasm in it, which disturbed him. Surely, she didn't _actually_ believe that this was the end?

Tired of listening to his companion lament her "inevitable" demise, Malcolm decided to try a new technique. "Have ye ever considered that part of the problem is that ye know exactly where ye are right now? Maybe if ye were to…pretend we're somewhere else…"

She looked at him as though he had just suggested drinking his own piss." I can't pretend we're anywhere else. We're in a tiny, enclosed space with a limited supply of air inside, and that air is going to run out soon!"

"You say that, lass, because ye can physically see _it—_even if the lighting in here is still pretty bad. Why don't ye close yere eyes for a bit? It might help."

Nicola shook her head rigorously. " No, that'll make it worse. Looking at you is the only thing that's making me feel any better." She suddenly realised how that must've sounded and made to remedy the situation, momentarily grateful for the dim light—as it prevented her companion from seeing her flushing cheeks. " That is…I mean to say… I'm _scared,_ Malcolm—more scared than I've been in a very long time. And the only thing that's keeping me from spontaneously combusting right here and now is knowing that I'm not alone—that I've got _you _with me."

"I'm not going to disappear if ye close yere eyes, Nicky. We're both trapped in here until someone fixes the power. I couldn't leave ye even if I wanted to."

She let the "Nicky" slide, which surprised him a little. However, this small shock paled in comparison to his next realisation.

'_I couldn't leave you even if I wanted to.'_

Had he really said that? And more importantly, had he really _meant _it? Malcolm had a disturbing feeling that the answer to both questions was "yes."

"In any case, go ahead and close yere eyes. I'll still be here when ye open them again, I promise."

" Good, I'll have to hold you to that promise." Nicola scooted closer to him, and—before he could say another word—had settled her frizzy head against his shoulder. Malcolm was about to protest, but something in him softened when he glanced back down at her. He tried to think of something to say—something that would distract Nicola from her claustrophobia and himself from the uncomfortable feeling in his own stomach.

"Have ye…have ye ever been to the Scottish highlands?"

She closed her eyes and nestled against the soft fabric of his jacket. Malcolm Tucker spared no expenses when it came to his suits, something for which Nicola was now extraordinarily grateful. " Once, when I was a kid. Why?"

"Just curious. Do ye…do ye remember anything about it?" Nicola shook her head slightly and Malcolm continued. "We used to go there to visit my grandparents. 'Gorgeous' doesn't even begin to describe it. It's exactly the way I imagine Heaven looks—not that I'll ever get the chance to compare."

"I can believe that; I've seen pictures…"

"Pictures don't do it justice: the way the water sparkles like diamonds even on a cloudy day, the moment ye look down from the mountains, and the sheep look just like wee cotton balls. And the air... so fresh and sweet and pure—like the breath of an angel. It's…. it's indescribable."

"You're doing a pretty good job so far," Nicola said, allowing him to continue painting an irresistible scene in her mind.

Malcolm finally shook her head off his shoulder. "Nah, I can't even skim the surface, and I don't often have any trouble expressing my thoughts."

"No you don't—do you?"

" One of these days, I'd love to just tell the PM to sod off, and I'll go back there." He sighed. "Not that I'd ever do it."

Nicola finally re-opened her eyes and glanced curiously at her companion. "Why not?"

"Ye know perfectly well why not. Cause I'm the safety pin holding the whole fucking government together. Ye lot wouldn't last one day without me there, pullin' all yere little puppet strings…."

"Making sure this Pinocchio doesn't make a literal ass of herself yet again?"

"_Exactly_," he said, nodding vigorously. Then, he let out an involuntary sigh_. "_Ah, but it's more than that—innit? This job is everything I am—everything I ever will be. I can't take a holiday from that; it'd be like taking a holiday from meself."

Nicola contemplated this for a moment, and then returned the subject to its original topic." Well, if you ever change your mind and decide to go back to the Highlands, take me with you."

He rose to his feet and walked over to the other side of the lift, keeping his back to her. "Even _you'd _have to admit, it would look a bit dodgy. A married cabinet minister running away to Scotland with her ne'er-do-well colleague? The press will have us in a warm Gretna Green bed before we've even packed our suitcases."

" Well, naturally, I wasn't planning on going alone" Her tone seemed oddly defensive for some reason. "I'd take the whole family with me. This might be just what we need—a nice, relaxing trip to a beautiful, quiet place."

"If I'm around it would be anything _but _quiet," Malcolm pointed out, feeling a slight smile play on his lips.

"True. Maybe it _is _best if we leave you behind. I don't need my five-year-old picking up any more swear words, and I'm still not sure if you'd get along with James."

The spin-doctor didn't answer. He already knew how he'd get on with Nicola's husband—about as well as Captain Ahab and Moby- fucking- Dick.

"Of course, that's assuming James would even be there in the first place. He never seems to have any time for us nowadays. One of these days, he's gonna go off to work and never come home—not to me at any rate. He'll find a younger, thinner, prettier model—trade the old station wagon in for a flashy sports car." The cabinet minister felt moisture building up in her eyes again, and mentally cursed herself for yet another embarrassing display of vulnerability.

Malcolm walked back over to his companion, sat down beside Nicola, and placed a steadying hand on the minister's back. "If he ever does that, ye'd be well shot of him. Jimmy's not fit to make yere bed, let alone to share it."

"Maybe you're right."  
>"Of <em>course,<em> I'm fucking right, and don't ye ever forget that for even a fucking moment." His voice currently had the same force and volume that it did whenever he lectured her about her political blunders.

She sniffled slightly. "That still doesn't change the fact that I love him."

"I know it doesn't, Nicky. And the bastard doesn't know how lucky he is to have that much." He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze and then released it.

"What about you? I mean…I can't help but notice your ring…."

The soft, gentle look in his eyes instantly grew hostile. "_That_ is none of yere fucking business."

"Alright, I'm sorry I asked," the DoSAC secretary of state replied, throwing up her hands in defence.

"You should be. Don't do it again."

They sat in silence for a time, until Nicola finally spoke up. " At any rate…well, at least, we've…we've got each other, Malcolm."

He studied her appraisingly for a minute. "Suppose we do. I've got yere back, and I'd like to think ye've got mine."

" I do."

" Small comfort, but it's something."

Nicola leaned her head back against Malcolm's shoulder. " Yeah, it is. Malc?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm glad it was you."

"What?"

"I'm glad it was you that I got stuck in here with—and not Glenn or Terri or Ollie."

"Me too, lass; me too."

All of a sudden, the room was flooded with light.

"Does that mean what I think it does?" the DoSAC secretary of state asked, sitting up straight and giving her first genuine smile since she'd entered the dreaded lift.

Malcolm picked his Blackberry up from off the floor and carefully stood up."If the power's back on, it's only a matter of time before the lift starts moving again. We should be out of here in no time." He returned his attention to Nicola, held out his hands and gently helped his companion get back on her feet, mere moments before the lift resumed its steady ascent.

Once they'd arrived at their destination a few seconds later, Malcolm finally noticed that he still hadn't let go of Nicola's hands. He did so immediately afterwards and instinctively wiped his palms on the leg of his trousers. The spin-doctor told himself he was getting rid of germs. After all, he had no idea of exactly where Glummy Mummy's hands had been recently, and he had no real desire to find out.

However, he knew deep down that his fear had nothing whatsoever to do with hygiene and everything to do with the fact that Nicola Murray's hands were much smaller and much softer than he'd previously assumed.

As the doors opened, Malcolm turned back to his companion. "Nic'la…about what's happened here … between us…."

" We got caught in a lift together, and we sat around and waited for the power to come back on. That's the long and the short of it, from what I recall."

"So…ye won't say anything…about…well…."

Nicola shook her head. "Not unless you want me to. And you won't say anything about me?"

He gave her a broad grin. "Not on yere fucking life, sweetheart. Not on yere fucking _life_."

THE END

**Thank you to all who have read/reviewed/favorited/ alerted. I've very much enjoyed writing this, and I appreciated all who have taken the time to look this over. Best wishes :)**


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